


Skeletons in the Closet

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Damn that ep was intense, Emotional Hurt, Episode s04e03 The Final Problem, Gen, M/M, Mycroft always is a big brother first, Mycroft is TERRIFIED of Eurus, Mycroft's point of view, SPOILERS - obviously, not necessarily a good one though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Everyone has secrets hidden away - especially Mycroft Holmes.Some of those secrets haunt and terrify him and none more so than Eurus Holmes.





	1. A not so quiet evening

**Author's Note:**

> Episode companion piece (pieces for the other eps of season 4 will come but THIS needed to be written first). I thought series 3 was BAD for Mycroft, little did I know what Moftiss had in store for him (oh yeah and that other Holmes brother too of course).
> 
> Thanks to Dimar for the commas once again.
> 
> Also - without Ariane DeVere and her AWESOME transcripts this wouldn't have been possible for me to do until the DVDs came out so YAY for fellow obsessed fans and THANK YOU.

Mycroft enjoyed a quiet evening at home. With Sherlock and John reconciled and his brother successfully going through detox he decided he could afford to enjoy himself a treat. Gregory was out for a few days on a seminar he needed to attend if he ever wanted to make DCI so the obvious was out of the question. 

Thinking about his husband, Mycroft smiled. Living with Gregory had changed his life in so many ways, not the least of which being that he challenged Mycroft’s perspective regularly. For example, Mycroft had to admit that he had learned to enjoy movies up to a certain point. Mostly black and white ones with cheesy caricatures of people speaking in ways no normal human would actually talk like. In a way it was like going to the theatre only without the unwanted company. So as a treat for Gregory who loved watching and rewatching his favourites and mouthing along the lines they now had their very own projection room. The house was big enough after all.

Mycroft decided on Gregory’s second favourite from the collection. He would keep the favourite for the evening of his husband’s return. After preparing the projector, he fetched himself a good whiskey and an ashtray. It really was a shame that he never seemed able to stop. Every time he thought he’d beat the nasty habit, Sherlock overdosed or something almost as bad happened and he was right back where he started.

Well, he had worse habits and smoking was a slow killer at least. 

Also it fit the movie in question and it would be a sin against style not to enjoy a cigarette watching the blue smoke dancing in the projector light while the very manly hero on the screen did the same thing.

Mycroft sat back and enjoyed the movie. 

Without realising it, he even began mouthing along. He had only seen the film thrice thus far but that was more than enough to know it by heart. He remembered watching in fascination how Gregory had spoken along to all of Velma’s lines. Now he automatically filled in his husband’s pauses by filling in the role of Leonard - even without Gregory there.

Yes, watching the movie had been a good idea. It made him feel close to his husband despite his absence.

At first he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the short flash of colour and sepia. Then it returned and he recognised the pictures. Bath - that home movie had been taken in Bath by Uncle Rudy. How did the two get mixed up? Then he caught a glimpse of Sherlock piling on him - such happy, innocent times. Then there were words suddenly “I’M BACK”. Mycroft frowned. Who was back? It couldn’t be her, that was preposterous. Mycroft’s mind began to race while he outwardly did his best to stay calm. Whoever was in the projector room wanted to mess with him. They were IN his home so he had to assume they were dangerous. 

Then again the words “I’M BACK”. Not exactly subtle but by now Mycroft WAS actually terrified. If this really was Eurus, then he was as good as dead. His parents were as good as dead. Sherlock was as good as dead. There was no reason to think that the people close to them would be safe. Not after what she did to Victor. So John was in danger. And Gregory.

Mycroft tried to get out of the projector room not really caring that the movie had stopped by now. The door was locked. He was trapped in a room without a weapon and someone was moving in the room above.

He looked around trying to decide what to do. Then the door suddenly opened in his back.

Mycroft felt a shudder running down his back. He silently scolded himself for being ridiculous. This was not a horror movie. There were no undead monsters in the dark. No - he reminded himself - this was far, far worse.

Outside it was dark. OF COURSE it was. Mycroft tried the light switch but wasn’t rewarded. Someone must have messed with the fuses. He cursed silently for getting so lost in the movie that he never heard anything. He used his phone as a torch, so he wouldn’t stumble in the darkness. Then there was a child calling his name; a young girl running from him. Without a thought he ran after her, trying to catch up - only to find a mannequin. In a last attempt to keep in control he called out. 

“Why don’t you come out and show yourself? I don’t have time for this.”

To his own ears he sounded far too frightened.

And whoever was tormenting him was not impressed either. The female voice kept mocking him as he tried to find a way out of this. He still refused to believe this was Eurus. It simply couldn’t be. If he believed it was really her, he would lock himself in and phone MI5, MI6, and the goddamn army to save him.

When he reached the terrible historic portraits and blood started running from their eyes, he was almost inclined to believe it was her though. His family did have a tendency to be overly dramatic. 

The female voice started talking about the “East Wind”.

So it WAS Eurus after all. But before he could take his phone and dial 999 there was a man in a clown mask. And then the clown had a sword. Mycroft knew the sword was sharp. He took excellent care of everything in his home, after all. He just managed to grab his umbrella. There was no time to try and call anyone now. Not with someone standing right there threatening his life. 

Mycroft pulled the sword from the handle and took a classic pose. 

He did do fencing during uni for a while. 

Only then the tips were dull and he wore protective clothing.

Mycroft was no use in a physical confrontation and he knew it. And the clown seemed to know as well. He was not impressed with Mycroft’s fencing stance.  
Well, if the clown wouldn’t be frightened off, the British Government had one last resort. He pulled the small pistol free from the sword and shot.

Only there was no shot ringing out.

When he pulled the trigger again there was another click, and another.

He hardly heard the child’s voice anymore as he fled own the stairs, trying just to get out - away from HER.

When he found the doors to the house locked, he thought that this was it. That now everything he was, everything he loved, everything he’d ever done and achieved would end here. 

And then he spotted Sherlock. 

He didn’t ask himself how his brother came to be here. He only knew one thing. Sherlock was here. And Sherlock meant safety. Sherlock thrived on this form of madness. With Sherlock he would be able to beat Eurus. And then everyone would be safe.

He called out to his little brother for help, at the same time warning him of the very real danger. Mycroft never panicked. Mycroft didn’t call for help, least of all to Sherlock.

And then everything changed.

Sherlock snapped his fingers and the lights came on. When Sherlock spoke, Mycroft realised that nothing was as it had seemed. This was far less and far, far more frightening at the same time.

Sherlock knew.

Mycroft immediately went back to old familiar patterns. He began to scold Sherlock. Showed the rightful indignation and anger Sherlock’s little game deserved. Hiding his terror of the last minutes and the bad consciousness of the last decades.

Only John Watson wouldn’t have any of it.

He very eloquently convinced Mycroft that Eurus was indeed free. That the danger, no matter how much it had been a game to John and Sherlock at the same time was very, very real.

After they left, left him alone in a house with breached security and confirming his worst fears and that just right after putting him through a literal nightmare, Mycroft sank to his knees. He shuddered and it had nothing to do with the cold tiles on the floor.


	2. Baker Street

Mycroft hadn’t slept much that night. After checking and rechecking each possible entrance to his home and personally cleaning up the mess Sherlock and his entourage had left he went to bed at some point. But sleep naturally wouldn’t come. He contemplated over and over what the best way to approach this was. With the acute panic ebbing away he came to the conclusion that rushing his parents off to some secluded place would do more harm than good. He could hardly explain to them why he deemed it necessary and even if Mummy and Father gave in it might only bring them to Eurus’ attention faster.

He really hoped that someone else was behind this somehow. At this point he’d be grateful if this was just a last goodbye present of Moriarty. The man had known about Eurus and loved to play with Sherlock so it was safely in the realm of possibilities.

He would have to talk with his brother in the morning.

Damn his brother and John Watson for making him jump through hoops.

No matter if Eurus, Moriarty, or someone else entirely was behind this, he would have to clear this mess up. And he hoped that Sherlock would come out of this mentally and emotionally intact. As much as he feared for his own life, he feared more for his little brother. Sherlock had to lose far more than himself. And he hadn’t exactly dealt well back then.

He went over the possibilities over and over in his head and even when he finally fell asleep he tossed and turned mostly until he woke about two hours before the alarm. 

He knew it wouldn’t work to appear at Baker Street this early. There was no way Sherlock was even up, let alone ready for that talk. So he spent almost three hours with work related emails. Since it was still too early to even think of leaving, he went into his gym, running for another hour, trying to clear his mind. When he tried phoning Gregory, his husband’s phone was off and he reached the voicemail immediately.

“Hello - I was calling for no specific reason, so don’t worry about calling back. I hope you’re having a good time at the seminar.” He paused shortly before adding “I love you, husband-mine” and hanging up.

Gregory was probably already in some workshop or talk and wouldn’t hear his call before the lunch break. Which probably was for the best. It would be far easier keeping up an unaffected mask once he’d talked with his brother. It had been a silly instinct trying to call in the first place, just because he craved to hear the soothing voice. Gregory might have heard something in his voice and then he’d would have gotten involved in a far too dangerous game.

Mycroft took a quick and businesslike shower and got dressed.

If he left now he would probably reach 221b at the earliest time he could possibly expect Sherlock to be actually up and dressed.

****

Getting out at Baker Street he told his driver to wait at the usual place. The door already opened as he approached and Mrs. Hudson glared daggers at him. They had never been anything but acquaintances with some common interest and a strained relation. After she called him a ‘reptile’ just a few days ago and he learned that she’d kept Sherlock’s using from him their relationship had reached a new frosty low. And now… he had no idea what exactly Sherlock might or might not have told her.

Nevertheless he greeted her with a courteous nod. This was her house after all.

“Mrs. Hudson.”

“The boys are waiting upstairs,” she informed him coolly.

To add insult to injury the old bat followed him to the flat.

When he entered the flat John and Sherlock were sitting in their respective chairs, obviously waiting for him. And still they chose to ignore him. Obviously Sherlock thought he had to make some kind of point. Mycroft always had hated when his brother felt the need to prove to himself and the world how he could make everyone obey his whims. 

And of course John only enabled these childish tantrums.

At least Mrs. Hudson explained what was expected of him. Not that he wasn’t aware of it. Not that it was any form of pity, more like the landlady wanting to see him grovel. For one moment Mycroft let himself be fooled by her offer of tea. Some kind of beverage would be welcome by now since he skipped even his morning coffee. But of course she only snarled at him.

When he gave in and sat down in the germ infested ‘client chair’, Sherlock repaid him by sending Mrs. Hudson away. That was the only way he’d ever reached anything like a compromise with Sherlock - each of them giving in inch by inch and Mycroft always, always, always being the one to make the first step towards peace.

Then they started talking, cautiously at first but when Sherlock accused him of bullying him, terrorizing his baby brother, Mycroft couldn’t hold back.

“I monitored you.”

Sherlock deleted Eurus. Sherlock decided to forget everything about their sister and what she’d done and to live a safer life as an emotionally detached little Mycroft-clone. What Eurus had done to their family was beyond comprehension for most people. Sherlock had found a way to deal with it, as had Mycroft in his own way. But Sherlock’s solution hadn’t been exactly healthy. And someone had to keep track of his brother’s mental health. If the barriers ever broke down, who but Mycroft would be able to see it coming or to pick up the pieces?

Redbeard, the East Wind, as long as Sherlock didn’t react out of the ordinary to certain trigger words it was a sign that his baby brother was doing well - or as well as could be expected.

He tried to keep John out of this.

He really didn’t want to involve anyone else in their little drama. Mycroft was a private person and family matters should stay inside the family.

Only Sherlock had a different definition of family. And once again Mycroft found himself rejected in favour of John Watson. The man who had done so much for Sherlock, more than he himself had ever managed. So he started talking, telling them about Eurus, only bits and pieces but it was enough. Sherlock’s memories began to slowly resurface. Mycroft grew tense but so far Sherlock seemed to be dealing well. On the other hand Mycroft couldn’t see any signs that too much came to the surface.

When Sherlock still referred to Redbeard as his dog, Mycroft was very careful to stick to that version. He wouldn’t force any epiphanies on his baby brother.

Which in turn meant his version of events still was heavily edited.

When Sherlock called him out on the obvious lie - that is obvious if she really did make an appearance - he easily confessed. It was mostly Uncle Rudy’s idea - most of the early handling of Eurus was. He had been hardly more than a child himself back then. For a while it hadn’t been necessary to tell them anything. Eurus had been in good hands. The things she’d done had even frightened Mummy in the end. And a traumatised Sherlock needed them at home. And when they started thinking about visiting her - more out of a bad conscience than anything - the fire was a believable way to spare them any more pain. Mycroft had wholeheartedly agreed with Uncle Rudy’s assessment once he’d grown privy to it.

He still insisted that whoever had messed with them couldn’t have been Eurus. It simply couldn’t be.

And then the drone appeared.

He first heard the singing voice and there was no doubt anymore that this was somehow Eurus’ doing. Mycroft was terrified. Then he saw the drone and he left terrified a long way behind to enter the deadly calm of a man who knew he was doomed.

He informed them calmly of the facts and Sherlock and John both took the news with amazing grace. He thought about potential civilian victims - Sherlock thought about Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft didn’t like his brother’s analysis of Mrs. Hudson’s best chance but he agreed with it. He just wished there was a better way to ensure the woman’s safety. He never had been very much of a runner, not even during his short career as a field agent in his youth.

The question after the phone threw him off. He knew that John had a daughter but she hadn’t even seen her second birthday. A phone call would mean nothing to the toddler anyway. At the same time he was glad that he’d left a few words on Gregory’s mailbox. 

When his brother told him he had always liked his Lady Bracknell, Mycroft knew that for once Sherlock seemed to actually grasp the reality of the mess he was currently in. That made him smile almost as as warmly as the fact that Sherlock’s potential last words toward him were not spoken in spite or anger.

And then their very tiny time window opened and Mycroft ran.


	3. Into the dragon's den

Later Mycroft always wondered how he did get Mrs.Hudson and himself out in time. They were mostly lucky with the front door just opened because the landlady had decided to bring out the trash. The explosion’s pressure wave channeled through the hallway actually accelerated their flight. Falling down the few steps at the front door they fell below the heat and fire. He and the old lady were barely singed. She seemed to have suffered a minor fracture and like him she surely suffered from tinnitus right now but those were insignificant in comparison to the alternative.

She didn’t take any time to thank him for saving her life, naturally. She started looking for Sherlock and John immediately instead. Which was fine by him as he did the same thing.

By the time Sherlock and John had made their way over to them and Dr. Watson began to look over the landlady, Mycroft’s driver had made it to the scene to check on his boss. Relief was clearly written over his face.

Mycroft started giving clear and short commands.

No one was to know he survived unscathed. Plans were already forming in his mind and most of those hinged on the element of surprise. Maybe Eurus was cleverer than him. But lack of data or misinformation could add up to something not unlike stupidity. And if he couldn’t fool Eurus (which was highly likely) then he might at least be able to catch her accomplices off-guard.

He informed Anthea and Anthea only and gave clear instructions to the driver to not only see Mrs. Hudson off to the hospital but to make sure she got the best care in a private room and to have the official files refer to the patient as M. Holmes, unconscious.

John was more than happy to see Mrs. Hudson taken care of better than he could have hoped for. Sherlock started to bounce ideas off of Mycroft and with both of them so wholeheartedly agreeing it was like watching a well oiled machine. Sherlock was the more practical one, Mycroft the more organised. Within minutes their battle plan was ready and they left the scene of the crime, always very aware of their surroundings, avoiding CCTV.

***

Despite their effectiveness it took them a while to reach Sherrinford, time well used to disguise themselves and to brief Sherlock and John on the facility as much as possible. It was enlightening to work directly with his brother and Doctor Watson. Despite his shortcomings experience had taught John Waton a lot about situations like these and nothing Sherlock or himself say or did even phased the veteran doctor. In a way he was a rock steadying Sherlock in a potentially catastrophic crisis. Their calmness in the face of the upcoming confrontation even helped Mycroft too keep up the facade of control he so desperately clung to. He focussed on the task at hand - finding out how Sherrinford’s security had been breached and who was responsible - and on his anger at whoever it was that screwed up this badly.

“A false beard and nose are a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“That’s the whole point, Mycroft. We want them to look at you and think it’s me. That will hardly work if they recognise you right away.”

“I’m well aware of that, brother-mine.”

“Then stop complaining because you hate spirit gum.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He did notice how Sherlock had managed to find a role that would not require him to clean his face with the terrible remover afterwards.

“I’m just saying this will hardly be my best role.”

“You won’t get us in there as Lady Bracknell,” John chimed in breaking their bickering.

Despite his nerves, Mycroft found himself smiling.  
***

When they reached the island, Mycroft made sure they stayed under the radar long enough to prepare their little scene. He knew all about the island’s security after all.

For a bit everything went just as planned. Mycroft was perfect as the disgruntled fisherman and John was sass personified. Neither of them even looked at Sherlock’s “guard” and it worked exactly as planned. They were lead into an interrogation room. Mycroft had no doubt that the governor had tried to reach him by now but his phone was lost somewhere in the chaos around Baker Street. The automatic rerouting of the call would have resulted in the information that he was currently at death’s door. Which in a sense was very true. Once Sherlock left with the card and the governor showed signs of what he himself probably considered intelligence, Mycroft saw no more reason to keep up the charade.

Sherlock had a right to see how terrified he was. 

With Dr. Watson it had been unavoidable.

This man was an underling and one who hadn’t done his job very well. 

The only thing he ever saw was a very irritated and therefore dangerous Mycroft Holmes. The “Iceman” didn’t involve himself directly all that often and if he did it meant very bad things for the people responsible.

He stayed in contact with Sherlock through a headset.

There really wasn’t all that much he could do to prepare his brother for the reality of Eurus but he could at least be there in his ear to be his lifeline to sanity.

He really wished that he could have convinced Sherlock not to go talk to their sister. Now he had to do his best to ensure no lasting harm would come from their meeting. And at the same time get to the bottom of what had gone wrong so he could fix it.

Sherlock was talking to Eurus now. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but his reactions showed clearly that she was as always effective. Mycroft shuddered at the thought of his brother falling under Eurus’ influence. He had warned him as best as he could and as long as Sherlock still held contact with him and John the chances were good that he could resist her. There weren’t many people who could.

And the impertinent governor had the gall to put the blame for Eurus on him.

Getting anything out of his sister had been playing with fire. But her cooperation, on the few occasions he managed to actually win it, had saved countless lives. No not countless - Mycroft knew the numbers and they were high enough to justify the risks he’d taken. Besides Eurus was still his sister and although she had to be contained, he felt the need to make her incarceration at least a little more bearable. Even the greatest minds needed some form of stimulation.

He had taken a calculated risk, being the only person even remotely able to do the calculations when it came to his sister.

And everything would have worked out if the governor had stuck to his explicit orders.

When John interrupted his lecturing of the man, Mycroft wasn’t exactly happy. He snapped at Dr. Watson. 

Then he listened.

A cold hand grabbed at his heart.

When the guards stormed in their weapons at the ready, Mycroft knew that it was too late.

Eurus had won.

Dr. Watson, ever faithful and terribly stubborn, had to try something and as he managed to escape the guards, Mycroft began to struggle as well although he knew he had little to no chance. Then there was a voice coming over the speakers. It was Moriarty. Mycroft knew the man was dead and this had to be a recording. Still he stopped struggling. John was frozen for a tiny moment as well and the guards promptly knocked him out.


	4. The Cell

Mycroft didn’t try to resist at all after that. He really wouldn’t want to be hit in the head. When the guards put him and John in a cell, Sherlock was already there. For some reason the governor stayed with them. Mycroft wondered if he was here more as a prisoner or as a guard. 

Of course the first thing Sherlock did was rush to Dr. Watson’s side even before the guards had closed the door on them. After checking that his best friend was OK, Sherlock relaxed slightly.

“He’s going to be OK as far as I can see,” he informed his brother.

“One of these days you should really try to get it through the good doctor’s head that getting knocked out first when you’re the only trained medical person isn’t the most intelligent thing one can do.”

Sherlock began scanning the cell, hiding his thorough search behind pacing impatiently. Mycroft watched the active CCTV and sighed. He doubted that there was anything they could do right now.

“Any chance your minions will storm this place any time soon?”

“I’m afraid not. I did try to keep this from spilling out, this is about family after all.”

“Also you are a secretive bastard.”

Mycroft closed his eyes to keep his composure. “I’ll remember that next time you get yourself in trouble. I’ll shout it from the rooftops and then let you rot in prison.”

Sherlock actually smirked at that. Inwardly Mycroft was relieved that his comment had worked. Right now he wasn’t convinced there would ever be a ‘next time’ but he kept up appearances for his brother’s sake.

Still the waiting was starting to get to him. He hadn’t slept much last night and certainly not well. A flat had exploded basically around him and it was a minor miracle that Mrs. Hudson, John, himself and Sherlock had made it out more or less unscathed. After a taxing journey now he was trapped inside a cell with his brother and Dr. Watson and given that their captor was the brilliant and insane Eurus, he doubted that he would make it out alive. 

Unwillingly his mind wandered back to the days of their childhood, when even a four year old Eurus had managed to scare him. In a family of exceptional intelligence, his sister had always stuck out as so far beyond even him as he was beyond ‘real people’. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine as he remembered that it was Eurus - age three - who first had made that distinction. For Mycroft it meant “real people - those who need to be protected”. For Eurus it had meant “I’m NOT real so I can do whatever I feel like”. Even with an age difference of eight years, Mycroft had always known that his baby sister would win each and any confrontation between them. Not only because of her superior intellect but because she genuinely didn’t care about consequences, neither for herself nor anyone else.

At first - when she was a baby then when she began to speak and read as a toddler - Mycroft had done his best to look after her like he already did for Sherlock. He had always done his best to protect them from harm and nurture their intellect.

By the time she was five he had been terrified of her.

A feeling that had only been intensified during her adult years. Eurus was to a certain degree aware of that he was sure. She had a harder time reading him than any other person they knew. But still she saw through him with far more ease than he felt comfortable with. Which was one of the reasons he currently shoved any thought of Gregory as far back in his mind as possible. If he died here, he didn’t want his sister to go after his husband afterwards.

Mycroft felt a wave of nausea and dizziness. Lack of sleep, low blood sugar, and the threat of inevitable doom weren’t exactly a good combination. He leaned back against the wall, loosening his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt.

Sherlock furrowed his brow, looking at him. Maybe there was even something like concern in his face.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Showing sentiment while Eurus was watching was a stupid idea. 

“It’s warm in here.”

Before Sherlock could retort, John opened his eyes, starting a whole other conversation.

When his brother evaded John’s question after Eurus, Mycroft realised that Sherlock took their sister more serious than he would have thought. Maybe even as serious as she deserved.

And then the mind games started.


	5. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Governor's wife, the 3 brothers, Molly, and Sherlock's choice...

When Sherlock took the gun, Mycroft wasn’t surprised to see his brother’s first instinct was to use the gun himself.

Sherlock in that regard was so much more courageous than him.

But of course Eurus wouldn’t let them get off this easily.

Sherlock’s second ‘first choice’ was handing the gun to him.

Mycroft couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t shoot someone in cold blood. He couldn’t shoot someone - period. There were rules and laws and most importantly ethics to be obeyed. Through all of his career he had never personally killed anyone and he had always done his best to save as many lives as possible through the orders he gave. Hell, he didn’t even incarcerate people without actual proof. Unlike shady governments around the world, Mycroft believed in the rule of law and lived by it.

Sherlock tried shoving the gun at him still.

He tried grasping at straws, asking after the countdown. But of course Eurus wouldn’t fall for that.

“I can’t do this.” He tried to explain.

Sherlock still held the gun out and the governor was now pleading to be executed.

But he couldn’t. A very large part of him was afraid that if he ever left the narrow path he laid out for himself, he could end up as yet another Magnussen, Moriarty, or even Eurus. Not only would killing that man be wrong, he could easily lose his soul in the process.

When he began to tremble and back away, Sherlock finally gave up. Mycroft felt terrible because he understood what he was essentially asking John Watson to do. But John had killed before. John had a moral core made out of steel. He wouldn’t lose himself if he did what he was forced to do.

Never once had Mycroft felt so ashamed of his own cowardice.

He watched in horror as John prepared to do the unspeakable. But when it came down to actually pulling the trigger, John Watson - battle-hardened soldier extraordinaire - wasn’t any more able to kill in this situation than himself.

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he should feel dread or relief about that fact.

Then the governor’s decision made every further contemplation useless.

They all tried to stop him but it was of no use. Blood and brain matter splattered through the small cell and as the smell of urine, excrement, and blood hit his nostrils, Mycroft tried very hard not to vomit. At this point he was grateful that he had nothing to throw up with his last meal laying almost twenty hours in the past. He fought back the bile and stomach acid as his brother tried to console John. All the while their sister mocked them over the monitors.

Then Eurus killed the wife just a moment later. It was what she had promised right from the start. That woman’s death was to a certain degree on him and Doctor Watson. Mycroft couldn’t say he was surprised but he was still horrified at her casual disregard for human life.

When Sherlock asked after the treats he could only confess to parts of it. This didn’t seem like the time to really explain himself. Not with all the smells of death attacking his senses.

“She’s very clever.”

Sherlock was angry - at Eurus, at the situation, at him. “I’m beginning to think you’re not.”

Mycroft didn’t even cringe. He felt that at this point he deserved far worse than the harsh but essentially correct judgement. He simply followed his brother and John out after a last look at the body of a man whose death would haunt his conscience for the rest of his life - however short that might turn out to be.

***

Mycroft remembered the games. Sherlock obviously still didn’t. Playing along with Eurus’ demands had only ever worked so far. She had always been prone to change the rules on a whim and not tell anyone. Well she always insisted that she advertised the rules changes clearly in advance and that they were always perfectly logical but to anyone but herself they were impossible to follow let alone predict. In Eurus’ little games the only winning move was not to play. And even that didn’t always work as Redbeard had so eloquently proven.

The whole setup with the little girl was terrifying and frustrating. Mycroft knew he didn’t have enough data, he didn’t have access to his usual ressources. There was no way he or they could save the child. And the only thing he could do was trying to ignore her. Because if he tried to focus on the impossible task of saving her then he would probably miss crucial hints that could enable him to save himself and Sherlock and stop Eurus from causing more harm.

He knew his chances were slim at best. He was terrified. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want Sherlock to die. Mycroft’s only option not to lose it completely under the circumstances was clinging to his dignity as much as possible.

Then Eurus told Sherlock to look at John and himself judging their ‘usefulness’. Mycroft felt like throwing up once again. You didn’t judge family or friends by usefulness. You judged tools that way. Tools were replaceable and easy to dispose of. And no person in this room fell into that category. 

When Sherlock asked him on his thoughts on the rifle, he refused to participate in this travesty. The only thing he might be able to achieve was to show up Sherlock - hardly useful in a situation where their sister was obviously completely obsessed with him and his abilities.

He was surprised that John obviously was very aware of the last consequence of this little game and hadn’t lost sight of it in the heat of the game. He really shouldn’t have been.

John knew that they were all going to die but he didn’t let that thought terrify him. Maybe courage didn’t always translate into stupidity after all.

He tried to give some level of comfort to his brother’s friend but his words didn’t do any good. Mycroft once again felt his biggest weakness in his inability to interact like a normal human being.

Then Eurus heightened the stakes once again. In addition to the little girl now there were the three brothers. Sherlock was asked to decide which of them would live and which would die.

All thoughts of attempting to keep his dignity by not participating died. He simply couldn’t leave Sherlock alone in this. So when Sherlock wasn’t sure about his own deductions, he automatically gave him a prompt. Just enough to kill his brother’s doubts.

But choosing one of the men to die - murderer or not - they simply couldn’t do that.

Because he still bought the lie of the possibility of saving the girl, Sherlock disagreed. His brother made the choice.

When Eurus killed the two innocent men John reacted with fury and anger. To the doctor the innocents and the guilty were different.

That was one thing on which Mycroft agreed with Eurus though. It really made no difference - murder was murder. The only difference to him was whether it was absolutely necessary or avoidable. To Eurus the difference only lay in the entertainment value.

When they heard the girl next and learn she was headed for land, Mycroft was grateful he had already detached himself from the possibility of saving her. He voiced the obvious because he was afraid Sherlock was still too busy clinging to hope.

Dr. Watson reacted with shocked surprise.

Sentiment really was the biggest enemy of rational decisions. Judging by the voice, the vocabulary and syntax, he judged the girl to be about twelve. There was no way they could talk her into landinding the plane safely. Even in the movies no one would believe that one.

Sacrificing a child - and a whole plane full of passengers - was a terrible choice. But the alternative was far, far worse.

So given the heightened stakes and the fact that the might actually make a difference - even if it wasn’t for the girl - Mycroft decided that maybe he should stop holding himself back like this.

When they got to the coffin and Sherlock started deducing, Mycroft went for the obvious hint. Something so obvious Sherlock probably would have missed. Eurus’ little private joke. To her everything was obvious and they were fools for constantly missing things. John might have caught this one if he hadn’t been distracted by the tragedy playing out somewhere in the sky. With the plane now endangering countless civilians on the ground they didn’t have time to waste though.

This was of course all about Sherlock. He was amazed how John could have missed that glaringly obvious fact. 

“So who loves you? I’m assuming it’s not a long list.” He wondered why he had to phrase it just like that. He knew the answer to his own question of course. The list wasn’t all that long but it usually wasn’t - not if you only considered genuine love. Most ordinary people would be shocked to know how few individuals actually cared for them with that intensity. Sherlock’s list was definitely longer than his own, Mycroft knew. And he himself was very high up on it.

What followed had to be the hardest thing Mycroft ever had to watch. He once sat quietly watching a Serbian thug beat up Sherlock because the circumstances demanded it.

But this was worse.

He managed to stay out of it because he knew that he had too. But watching Sherlock so obviously in pain, so obviously affected, it was almost more than he could bear.

When it was over just before Eurus’ insanity claimed another victim, he tried to offer some comfort, however inadequate.

Sherlock ignored him. His baby brother clung furiously to the task laid out before him, not allowing his emotions to stop him.

Mycroft felt pride watching that kind of control.

Not that it held for long. When Eurus mocked him and told him Miss Hooper never was in any danger, Sherlock lost it. He took out his anger and frustration on the coffin, venting in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before.

Mycroft wished he could somehow help. But he knew that all he could do was standing back, letting Sherlock find his own way back to something akin to equilibrium. 

Or rather he could watch as John stepped in just at the right moment, just in the right way, and with just the right words to help his brother in a way he couldn’t.

When next Eurus revealed her next little game the choice was therefore clear.

This was a choice Sherlock should never have to make.

So Mycroft wouldn’t allow it. He would make this choice. There really was only one. If he acted convincingly enough chances were that Sherlock would only realise what he’d done in hindsight. The current stress levels they were both under should make it possible for him to pull this off.

So he acted out the role of heartless bastard once again.

A role he had perfected over the course of decades.

The role of a lifetime.

He really hoped Gregory would be able to forgive him once he learned how he died. He hoped that Sherlock would somehow, miraculously make it out of here alive and live a very long life blaming him for this little charade.

The sad thing was that his flimsy arguments actually manage to convince John Watson. Or rather he guessed that John didn’t want to watch Sherlock kill his own brother. That somehow for his brother’s best friend it was easier to die than live only because someone else was murdered. The cynical part of his brain insisted that it was partly a symptom of the depression after Mary’s death and that John should care more about saving Rosie’s father than about possible survivor’s guilt. At that point Mycroft totally understood why so many people hated him and his goddamn cynicism.

When Sherlock didn’t shoot him, he dialed up the performance. But apparently that was overdoing it.

His idiot little brother chose that exact moment to actually see through him.

It didn’t change much in the last consequence. It made things harder for Sherlock but it was still perfectly obvious that he had to die.

Mycroft’s brilliance was no match for Eurus.

John provided a much needed different perspective.

And Sherlock needed John far more than he ever needed his brother.

He asked to be shot in the heart. It was a kindness to everyone. Having to identify a body that was shot in the face wasn’t something he wished on anyone. Also he didn’t want his brother’s last memory of him being his face exploding in blood. And if he had to die, he wanted to die. The thought of maybe somehow surviving a headshot and ending up as a better class of vegetable terrified him even more than the idea of death itself.

As his very last act he made his confession. Not that he believed in an afterlife and a forgiving god. But maybe Sherlock would need that fact - if not for actually beating Eurus then to help him get over killing his brother.

He put on a brave smile.

Despite Sherlock’s mocking he wasn’t that bad an actor. Years in politics and diplomatic circles had honed his skills.

Only Sherlock didn’t play along. He never did.

Mycroft was unsure whether he should be horrified or relieved when Sherlock turned the tables on Eurus and started a countdown himself.

Seeing the darts hitting John and Sherlock, feeling the prick in his own neck, Mycroft decided that relief won out.


	6. Waking up

When Mycroft regained consciousness he felt a wave of panic. The last thing he remembered was Sherlock threatening to shoot himself. A thought Eurus apparently hadn’t agreed with.

Now where was he and where were his brother and John Watson?

“Sherlock?”

There was no reaction.

Mycroft looked around. He was in a cell - and not just any cell but Eurus’. A cell meant to hold a Holmes. Although it hadn’t done a good enough job.

Well, Mycroft was grateful that the glass at least was gone.

“Sherlock?!”

Still no reaction. It was probably safe to assume that his brother couldn’t hear him. Given their sister’s obsession with him, Sherlock should be alive. Now if Mycroft could just keep the hint of panic out of his voice…

He started to walk through the room. The CCTV was following his movements, so the system still worked. He wondered how many wardens were completely under Eurus’ control and how many had been killed.

Just to cover the obvious, Mycroft tried the door. As expected it was closed. There was no way to get to the lock and even if there was, Mycroft really had no talent in lock-picking. Fatty Holmes - the useless, impractical, far too smart klutz. Well, not all that smart compared to Eurus.

Bringing her the Stradivarius had been an attempt at being nice, at giving some joy to his little sister, making her incarceration at least a little more bearable. Only Eurus hadn’t cared all that much…

Eurus had never cared all that much for her useless, fat, older brother. Both boys seemed slow to her but at least idiot Sherlock was charming.

Mycroft sighed. He had always tried to do right by everyone in his family but he couldn’t deny that - like everyone else - he had always loved Sherlock best. And Eurus surely would have known that. He had failed his little sister. So probably this was all his fault. 

Today’s disaster surely was.

He should have seen it coming.

He should have known.

He should have inspected this place a lot more often instead of avoiding it.

And when visiting he shouldn’t have let himself be manipulated like a child. No - a child wouldn’t have known. He on the other hand had known the risks better than anyone and still had decided to take them. Calculating, above ordinary people, in control - that’s how he’d always seen himself. 

What a fool he’d been.

Maybe Eurus’ assessment was even more accurate than he dared to confess. Sherlock was the one worthy of her attention. Maycroft was nothing but a useless waste of space.

God, he hoped Sherlock was alright.

He looked up to the CCTV. He looked around. A small smirk played on his lips. He might be useless but Eurus had left him enough to play with - even if he wasn’t Sherlock.

Apparently the cameras weren’t watched permanently.

It was forty-five minutes after he’d written his little note ‘I’m a Holmes. You really think you can keep me here?’ and had rendered every surveillance equipment in the room useless before someone actually came looking.

Mycroft wasn’t a person for physical confrontation. He never had been and no amount of training would ever change that. But he got lucky.

Maybe it was the person’s fear of Eurus he invoked with his note. Maybe he simply didn’t expect any kind of resistance. Whatever the reason, Mycroft managed to knock out the man. Searching the unconscious warden he found no weapon - which came as somewhat of a relief - but a mobile phone - which was a life saver.

Mycroft slipped out and closed the cell door behind him as he left, making his way unseen towards an area with an actual signal.

Once he’d found a suitable out-of-the-way room where he should be safe for a while he called Anthea and sent a text to Lady Smallwood, Sir Edwin, and M. There simply was too much much at stake to worry about the fallout. He would hate to lose his position and influence because of this but it wouldn’t be undeserved. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if an escaped Eurus went after their parents.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“I’m reasonably safe for a person stuck in Sherrinford with everyone but himself potentially under the influence of an insane psychopath. Go coordinate with everyone to get this under control. Have someone check on my parents and check Musgrave too. And send a text to this number when you learn what happened to my brother… or sister.”

“I will.” She terminated the call.

Now all he could reasonably do was wait.

After going back and forth whether he should do it or not, Mycroft tried calling his husband.

Gregory’s phone rung three times before going to voicemail. Of course he wouldn’t answer an unknown number at this time. Mycroft sighed.

“Gregory,” he swallowed as his voice croaked. “I’m just calling to let you know I’m… fine. I’m not sure when I’ll be home but don’t worry.” There really was no use trying to explain it over the phone. He hung up.

Sitting in the dark of a small closet room waiting to get rescued, Mycroft never felt so lonely in his whole life.

***

When Mycroft received a text about an hour later, he was almost afraid to look. But not knowing in his experience always was worse.

“SH, JW & EH are safe and secure.”

Mycroft sacked in relief. Any details could wait. His family was safe - nothing else mattered. His thoughts wandered to Gregory. But his husband never had been in immediate danger; Eurus had been too focussed on Sherlock.

When the phone rang, Mycroft checked to see if he recognised the number. It wouldn’t be a good idea to answer the call of one of the warden’s friends. The number was one he knew by heart though.

“Gregory?”

“Mycroft?” Worry was clear in his husband’s voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Then why are you whispering? And why is your voice shaking? And where the hell are you?”

“I’m… at a place called Sherrinford, I was locked up in but I’m not hurt. I’m currently trying to avoid being put back in the cell before reinforcements actually arrive but I’m in no danger.”

“Mycroft, I had a call from Anthea and I’m currently driving up to Musgrave to make sure the local police won’t screw things up with your brother and to hell with jurisdictions and divisions.” There was a pause. “She told me to make sure Eurus Holmes had to be treated with extreme caution and that I should make sure your sister wouldn’t come to any harm.”

Mycroft closed his eyes. This was a conversation he really didn’t want to have over the phone. This was a conversation he didn’t want to have - period.

“Anything you would like to add at this point?”

“Her cell wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“So apparently not. Look I’m glad you’re OK but I’m pulling up to Musgrave so we’ll need to end this call. But this is far from over… Stay safe.”

Mycroft was pretty sure that his “I love you,” was cut off by Gregory hanging up.


	7. The Rescue

It took another couple of hours until the highly trained professionals reached first the island and then the compound. Mycroft was relieved to finally being able to come out of his hiding place in the early morning hours.

Mycroft was surprised to see that the mixed group featured not only members of the Royal Army and MI5 but also at least one MI6 agent a man he knew to be M’s personal favourite.

Sherrinford was safely on British soil and therefore not under MI6’s jurisdiction but M had been known to bend the rules if she deemed it necessary. 

“Back from Brazil?”

The man grinned and although he wasn’t exactly pretty Mycroft was reminded once again how this man so easily charmed secrets out of enemy spies.

“My boss said something along the lines of ‘screw jurisdictions, Rudy should have never dragged Mycroft into this. Now go and help clean up the mess’.”

“Have you secured the perimeter?” Mycroft really didn’t feel like discussing his family. The man’s lack of tact was probably something M would consider a good start for making him pay for her help. She had always felt he needed the occasional taking down a peg or two.

“The way out is clear and that’s exactly where we’re going. We’ll leave the rest of the clean-up to the others.”

Mycroft nodded. He took out the phone he’d acquired early and sent a message to everyone he’d contacted earlier not to call this number again, then he wiped the outgoing calls and texts he’d made. Then he handed the phone to the agent.

“This belongs to the man in Eurus’ cell, it should be searched in a thorough investigation.”

He entered M’s office in the early morning hours. He’d caught a few moments of sleep on the way here but he was still dead tired. Contrary to his expectations M was alone in her office awaiting him. So she’d pulled more strings on his behalf than he would have expected. Her agent accompanied him into the office and only left once she ordered him out.

“Isn’t that taking an unnecessary risk?” Mycroft sat down unceremoniously. He was too tired and exhausted to stand on protocol.

“Are you compromised?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Two days ago I would have insisted that I wasn’t. Now I’m less sure.”

A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “And that’s why I think I’m reasonably safe. Besides he’s just outside the door. And unlike you he’s fast and physically dangerous.”

“So now I’m reporting to you?”

“Just like the old days. Porlock and Love both agreed they were too involved. And Discidium and Turk will keep in the background for the time being. You are not exactly ‘reporting’ to me though. We all answer to each other as the circumstances demand it. And this situation clearly needs some scrutiny.”

Mycroft nodded his agreement. He had been the source behind the carefully perfected balance under which they all kept each other in check and he stood by his principles.

He spent the better part of the morning giving a detailed report on the situation and his activities. Something he hadn’t done in a very long time. Doing so to a person who had decades ago been his direct superior only added to the feelings of youth and inadequacy. No matter his personal involvement though Mycroft gave a complete and relentless report. He didn’t try to cover anything up and he didn’t gloss over things.

“How often did you use Eurus?”

“On eight different occasions. I’ve kept detailed records of every incident in case someone would eventually want to review my decisions. I will have my PA and you over all the files and the encryption key.”

She nodded. “I think we can keep the review down to me, Sir Edwin, and Lady Smallwood. Three pieces of eyes should be enough to guarantee an impartial judgement. And we should keep this as low profile as possible.” Her face went soft. “You really screwed up, Mycroft. I’ve never seen you this personally involved. You made mistakes you would have scoffed at in any other situation.”

He nodded. “I should have never involved myself like that. I was compromised by… sentiment.” He could hardly believe that he had to confess to his weakness like this.

The head of MI6 sighed. “Look you had a very long and tiring day. The clean up won’t actively involve you. Go home, take day or two off. Talk with your family.”

Mycroft blinked. “That sounds terribly ordinary and inadequate as a response.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be extraordinary all of the time.”

His expression clearly communicated how distasteful he found that thought.

“Go home - your car is already waiting outside to take you.”

Mycroft stood up and turned to leave. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me before this is over, Holmes. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

***

As embarrassing as dealing with the professional fallout of this catastrophe felt, Mycroft knew that he could ultimately deal with the consequences of his actions in that regard. 

He wasn’t so sure about his private life.

His driver handed him his phone just as he got to the car. Switching it on he began checking for missed calls and texts.

Two messages stuck out:

“I WILL tell Mummy. - SH”

And

“We’ll talk once you’re home. - G”

Mycroft was unsure which of those was the more ominous threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg's side will be in "Snippets & Outtakes".
> 
> The emotional aftermath will start tomorrow in "Skeletons and Consequences".


End file.
